No Longer the Hero
by Yester Darling
Summary: America has been fighting three wars on three fronts. As time wears on, they're taking their toll, weakening him. And yet, according to the voice in his head, they're preparing him for rebirth. Re-write of a very old piece. Hetalia X Hunger Games.


A/N: Hey, lovelies, long time no see.

i know I haven't updated in a while, and I'm sorry. I've been doing a lot of contrnplating and school stuff. Aside from that, I was a little nervous to update or write new stuff for various reasons I don't want to get into here.

I don't know what I'll be doing with What May Come and Verheddert. I'm sorry about that. I might update them soon, though.

i'm also hoping to work on some of my original fiction projects. If anyone would be interested in reading those, please let me know. I'd love to share my stuff.

Anywho, this is a re-write of one of my first fanfictions. I first wrote No Longer the Hero in 2015, and I'm glad to say my writing has improved a lot. I also was able to incorporate better information into this version which is great. Unlike the other version, this one is NOT annotated. I'd be happy to explain my writing choices if you need clarification, though.

I really hope that you enjoy this piece

Cheers, Yester

* * *

It began with wars, and America had a feeling that it would end in the same manner which it started.

The first war was against the elements and global warming. Prospects of winning that war seemed slim at best worldwide. Options for alternative energies were offered time and time again. Politicians voted them down, and he was at their mercy. In the end, America had no real say in what happened to him. Oceans rose and fires raged, both ravaging homes and crops alike. People died of both drowning and starvation. He watched helpless as his allies fell prey to the rising tides, Italy weakening and Japan disappearing from the maps as America's own borders shrank away. Relief efforts were too little too late, and thus, the first war was a loss.

The second war was Communism. The war he and his people had been fighting since they had first heard of the beast. Granted, that war hadn't been lost yet, but things looked rougher by the day as the rich looled down upon the poor from their stilted penthouses and floating edifices. His remaining allies in NATO seemed powerless to stop it's spread as his people rallied for it, begging for the downfall of the wealthy. He couldn't say he disagreed, but the thought of communism still reigned heavily on him.

The third war was with himself. As with the others, he was losing quickly. The East and West coasts had vanished together. His signature hairstyle made him suspicious this by refusing to cooperate. The 50 on his bomber jacket turning to 38 confirmed his fear. Texas left next, most of it leaving to try and keep the communist threat out. The rest crumbled into disarray. The 38 changed to 37 and his glasses had shattered.

As the land that had been the United States deteriorated, so had he. Weak from the three wars he was fighting, he found himself bedridden. His allies - those that could still hold their own - did their best to help; Germany trying to control the communist threat with funds, England helping to train his navy to aid those threatened by the rising shores. Canada stayed with him constantly, trying to ease the physical afflictions that resulted.

"I think i'm going to die," he had admitted to him one day, causing Canada to freeze in place. Silence was only broken by the sound of water dripping from the compress being prepared.

"Don't say that," Canada had replied.

"But it's true, isn't it?" America couldn't help but chuckle. "Strongest nation in the world can't even keep himself together. We know where this goes. It's kinda ironic."

 _And yet, it's for the better._

The thought had jarred him, leaving him to ponder as Canada laid the cloth over his head.

"You aren't going to die," he insisted. "We're going to keep that from happening."

America wasn't so sure, but he nodded.

-x-

The thoughts came in rapid succession once the revolution started. He didn't even know if they were his own.

 _You can use this, they said, create a new empire from the ashes of yourself._

"Shut up," he muttered, closing his eyes.

"I didn't say anything," said Canada.

"I was talking to myself." Sweating, he shoved the blankets onto the floor again. His skin felt as though he was on fire, and he knew he probably was. It was a different type of fire, though. Man-made. His people were attacking him, and he knew it.

 _Just like a phoenix_ , he thought to himself before trying to block his thoughts out again.

-x-

"Everything about you is paler," Canada chided, trying to use conversation to distract him from the thoughts. It wasn't working, but America admired his efforts.

The thoughts were consuming him, only a few feeling like his own, and the number of those were diminishing.

How long had he been like this?

"How long have they been fighting?" he asked.

"About a year now."

That was how long.

 _And the suffering will be over soon. Out of the suffering will come my new empire. A new name. A new me. The last piece will be falling soon. There's no avoiding it._

The thoughts were beginning to feel as though they were coming from him. Shakily, he tried to warn Canada again.

"America is going to die soon. I'm going to die."

A pause. "You can't give up hope so soon."

 _I'm not giving up hope. I'm stepping aside for opportunity. Free me, and see how good opportunity can be._

"I'm serious."

 _Free me._

"We'll make sure you don't."

 _Free me._

America closed his eyes, breathing slowing.

 _Free me._

His breathing stopped. His mind kept going.

"America? Oh my God. America!"

He felt himself being jostled.

And then, he felt it. The last bit of him dying. The last person who knew what he had once been was dying, and they were taking America with them.

And with a rush, he came to. He was still being jostled. He didn't like it.

"Let go of me," he said firmly, sitting up. Pure shock manifested in the eyes that met his. "Why the hell are you staring?"

"Your eyes..."

"What about them?"

"They're... red. Oh, God, America. You were gone, and now..."

"That's not who I am," he growled.

"What?"

He bellowed, "I said that's not who I am!" He sneered as he got to his feet, Canada scrambling away from him.

"What the hell happened to you?" Fear permeated Canada's voice. He decided he liked that.

"I rose up to the times."

"America..."

"That isn't me!" Furious, he shoved the other nation against the wall, satisfaction coming as he saw the wind get knocked out of him. Wanting his point to be clear, he cornered him, grabbing his arm and twisting. A cry and a sickening pop came as the joint dislocated. "Go on, say it."

He heard the other nation gulp. "You... you aren't America..." he could hear the obedience and fear. He decided he liked that. Gently, he let go, and Canada crumpled to the floor, holding his arm.

Stretching, he went over to the bed where he had been lying not minutes before. A bomber jacket, emblazoned with a bold "13" hung on the footboard, and he pulled it on. It felt right.

A murmer came from Canada as he went to leave. "Did you say something?" he asked.

Canada gulped. "I asked 'what do I call you now?"

He contemplated, and a name came to him.

"Panem. I'm Panem."


End file.
